by Marian Keyes
‘And now I’m back!’ Hugh starts to cry. He covers his face with his hands and cries and cries, and I look at him, my guts crushed with sorrow. There’s nothing either of us can do for the other here.
‘I’m going to bed.’ I’m already longing for the sanctuary of my bedroom, then remember that Hugh will be sleeping there. ‘I’ll sleep in Kiara’s room and you can sleep in mine, but tomorrow you leave.’
While I was away, in order to stay in my Josh bubble, I didn’t look at Facebook. But it’s time to re-engage and I’m dreading it because surely the news is out that Hugh is home. Yep, a quick glance at my timeline establishes that his return is causing a meltdown to rival the one his departure kicked off.
Take this post from one of my neighbours: OMG, Amy, I saw Hugh heading off in the car, looking like a total HORN-DOG!!!!
Pictures of aubergines and general phallic-ry abound. I even get a message from Jana, who has either forgotten that Steevie has banned her from talking to me or, in the general excitement of Hugh’s return, is simply unable to follow orders: Amy! Hugh looks so hot! Lock him in your bedroom and have your wicked way with him until Easter!
This is far from enjoyable but not as humiliating as when he left. Thirty-one new private messages are sitting in my account. They’ll remain unread until the end of time and it’s probably a dead cert that voraciously curious texts and messages are zipping across Dublin, speculating on Hugh’s status. Have I welcomed him home, or is he on the open market?
Well, they’ll soon find out.
95
Friday, 30 December
In the morning, I wake in Kiara’s room, sadder than I can ever remember feeling. Hugh is below in the kitchen, moving around, so, chastened and sorrowful, I go down to him.
When he sees me, his face crumples, he gathers me into a big bear-hug. I lean against his bulk and cry into his chest, holding him tight as he shudders with sobs. When the storm of tears has passed, I say, ‘Hugh, last night, all the shouting and stuff, it’s not good. Can we try, both of us, to behave like decent people? Because it’s not just about you and me.’
With cups of coffee, we sit at the kitchen table and I say gently, ‘You know you can’t stay here, in this house, right?’
‘Really? But –’
‘It’s confusing for the girls.’
During the long, mostly sleepless night, I’d considered living with him until Sofie and Kiara finish school, but this house is too small for us to live like flatmates. God knows how we’ll manage the money – we were barely coping as things were – but we’ll have to make it work.
‘Can’t you give me some time? Please, Amy. My regret … I’d do anything to go back and do things differently.’
His heartbreak is genuine. Mine is too. But the love I had for him has shut down. ‘Sweetie, there’s no going back.’
‘You might change your mind.’
I won’t. ‘We’re done, we’re over, we’re in the past.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
It must be self-preservation. ‘Something happened inside me. I didn’t decide it, it happened by itself.’
He nods tentatively.
‘I was sure you’d never come back.’
‘But I did.’
‘I was certain you wouldn’t. But, Hugh, don’t think I feel nothing. There’s so much grief in me that I can only take tiny amounts at a time. It will take years to get over this, if I ever do. We’ve lost so much, not just you and me, but all of us.’
‘But if you realize that, can’t we just get back together?’
‘We’re over.’
‘No. It’s too quick.’
‘You can snap the neck of a living thing and it dies instantly.’
Almost whispering, he says, ‘Please don’t say that.’
‘Hugh, I’m a few months ahead of you on this, the … grieving. It feels horrific now, but I promise that even the worst stuff eventually becomes okay.’
‘This will never be okay.’
He’s probably right, but it’ll become bearable.
‘Amy?’ His voice is soft, but something about it unnerves me. ‘What happened?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The summer before last.’ He pauses and icy fingers seize my heart. He looks at me for a long, silent time.
‘I …’
‘You slept with someone else?’
Colour floods into my face. ‘No, no, Hugh, I didn’t.’
‘Amy. I knew something was going on.’
‘How?’ Who would have told him?
He half laughs. ‘Because I know you.’
Carefully I choose my words. ‘I met a man. I got a crush. But nothing happened.’
‘The man you’re seeing now?’
I bow my head. ‘Yes.’ Hotly I add, ‘But I’d never have slept with him if you hadn’t run away.’
And maybe he’d never have run away if I hadn’t …
Defensively, I demand, ‘So, are you saying this is all my fault?’
‘No, of cour–’
I feel ashamed and conflicted and I don’t like it. ‘Grand.’ I’m snippy. ‘So long as we’re clear that this is entirely your fault.’
He nods.
‘So. You wanted six months off?’
‘I don’t any more.’
‘Shush. Here’s the plan. We tell the girls you’re taking your full six months, which is another ten weeks. You’ll live with Carl and Chizo, so we can all adjust to the new normal. The girls will get used to us living in the same city, but not together. When the ten weeks are up, we’ll tell them it’s permanent.’
He winces.
‘Meanwhile we look for solutions to our finances.’
‘Amy –’
No. This is the only thing that will work. ‘Above all, you and I, Hugh, we speak to each other with respect. Sofie is in her last year at school, Kiara’s only a year behind her. They need stability so we provide a united front. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘There’s something you should know. While you were away, Sofie got pregnant –’
‘I know. She, I … We spoke to each other regularly. It was always the plan they could contact me if they needed.’
Right. I’d known that. I’d got that their needs were more important than mine. But, still, it hurts.
I wait until the mix of pain and fury passes, then say, ‘Can I ask one favour? If you’re putting it about, could you steer clear of Genevieve Payne?’
‘Are you insane? I love you, I won’t be putting it about. And Genevieve is married.’
Married makes no difference to anything, as we’ve both discovered.
He reads my thoughts. ‘Okay, I’ll steer clear. And if you and your … man split up, there’s someone I’d like you to stay away from.’
‘Who?’
‘Alastair.’
That’s the second time he’s mentioned Alastair in this context. ‘What’s the fixation with that eejit? Hugh, he’d be literally the last man in the world, apart from Richie Aldin.’
‘I dunno. You’re so close. He likes you such a lot. And he’s so … good-looking.’
It’s hard to know where to start. ‘He’s not my type.’ I like my men more dishevelled. ‘But if you don’t sleep with Genevieve Payne, I won’t sleep with Alastair.’
We share a tremulous smile.
96
I go upstairs to Kiara’s room and stay there until I hear the front door click closed behind Hugh, then the sound of his car driving away, leaving me in a house howling with absence.
Emotional pain can’t kill a person, I know that. Unbearable as this is, I will survive. Time will heal me. But, second by second, I must live through this.
I want to climb into bed and sleep for a week, but in my own bedroom all I can smell is Hugh, so I change the bedlinen and put on a wash. In the fresh bed, I close my eyes and await merciful escape but my head won’t stop flashing pictures of Hugh. Again and again I see him coming through the fr
ont door with his rucksack, collapsing into tears, pleading with me … My elbow hurts from where I hit him.
The pictures in my head won’t stop. It’s a little like being in a scary movie.
Too much has happened too quickly, I’ve overdosed on bad adrenalin – perhaps I’m in some sort of shock.
My phone vibrates with a text. It’s Derry – for about the twentieth time. She’s agitating for a massive debrief but I can’t inhabit my reality any longer.
I text her back: Have you any sleeping tablets?
Her reply is almost instantaneous: Is Barack Obama a woke bae? On my way.
She’s with me in minutes, hoping that the price of the sleeping tablets is a full account of everything.
‘No, Derry, I’m in a state. I barely slept last night –’
‘But Hugh is ba–’
‘I know. But, Derry, please …’ Tears spill on to my hands. ‘Not now. Gimme the tablets. I need oblivion.’
‘Oblivion? What sort of oblivion?’
‘Temporary.’
‘I dunno …’ She’s eyeing me with concern. ‘I’m only giving you two.’
There’s no chance of me taking an overdose, but I haven’t the energy to argue. Two will have to do.
I take one, and it’s as if I’ve been hit on the head: instant darkness. In the middle of the night I lurch back into consciousness so I take the second tablet. When I next come to, it’s ten past two on New Year’s Eve.
Twenty-five hours gone. Twenty-five hours nearer to me feeling okay again. There’ll be an unholy number of twenty-five-hour parcels to live through but it’s a start.
My phone is full of invitations to New Year’s Eve bashes – a night I’ve always hated. Now that I’m trending again, it’s even less attractive. The thought of all those avidly curious people glomming on to me, trying to extract information about the status of my marriage, under the guise of congratulations, is giving me the horrors.
I stay in and, other than a call from Josh, speak to no one.
New Year’s Day I spend doing stuff around the house, dreading the dawning of 2 January, the day Hugh and I are telling the girls that he won’t be moving back in ‘just yet’.
97
Monday, 2 January
It’s around noon when Hugh shows up. I let him in and we nod awkwardly at each other.
‘How’s Carl’s?’ I ask.
‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Good. Grand.’
I’m sure it’s anything but, but it’ll have to do. Carl is the flashiest, richest Durrant brother, and even though his fancy home has three spare bedrooms (they’ve only one child, Noah, the Boy Wonder), I sense Chizo won’t be keen on Hugh sticking around for too long. Runs a tight ship, does Chizo. Never misses a chance to tell me that my set-up is appallingly chaotic. I like her a lot, but she scares me sideways.
‘Kiara should be home in about half an hour. Go on into the living room.’
As soon as Hugh and I explain the plan to Kiara, she’s suspicious. Her eyes flick from Hugh to me, then back again. ‘But you came home because you wanted to be with us, right?’ she demands of Hugh.
‘Yes.’
She turns her stare on me. ‘And you missed Dad really badly?’
‘Of course, bu–’
‘So why can’t you just be together like now? Why do you have to wait until the six months are over?’
‘Leaving you all was a huge thing to do.’ Hugh is hoarse. ‘I didn’t take the decision lightly and –’
‘– he needs to be sure it’s all out of his system,’ I say.
Emotions scud across Kiara’s face, like fast-moving clouds. ‘No, Dad.’
‘What, hon?’
‘No, you know, with other ladies. Women. People who might know us. Whatever you did while you were away, well … I can’t even go there. But here, where it would throw shade on Mum –’
‘I won’t. That’s not what this is about!’
The cold look Kiara gives him tells us that a lot has changed since he left. I have to wonder if she’s seen that picture on his timeline. Well, something has happened, even if it’s just that she’s grown up a bit.
‘Sweetie,’ I say. ‘You’re allowed to be angry or disappointed or worried.’
‘I don’t need your permission to feel my feelings.’ She stalks from the room.
I’m shaking with distress. Hugh and I exchange an oh-shite look. Our sweet Kiara, is this going to ruin her, turn her sour and suspicious?
‘Should I go after her?’ Hugh asks.
‘Do.’
I’d hoped I’d feel less unsettled when the three girls had been told that Hugh won’t be living here, but seeing how badly Kiara has taken it, the worry is that Sofie will be even worse.
Unexpectedly, she isn’t.
‘On Christmas Day,’ she says to Hugh, ‘I thought you were just home for a few days and I was okay with that. I know it hurt you to leave us back in September, and you only did it because you had to, so I guess it’s important enough to do it right.’
‘Thanks, hon.’
‘You’re a person too,’ she says. ‘You’ve got feelings and stuff. I get it now. I love you, Dad.’ She gives him a quick kiss and goes, leaving both of us flustered.
‘She’ll be in bits when she finds out you’re not coming back at all,’ I say.
‘Yep.’
‘One thing at a time.’
‘Just Neeve to go.’
But Neeve will be glad Hugh won’t be living with us just yet. And when she finds out it’s for ever, she’ll be overjoyed.
She isn’t due home for another couple of hours. In the living room I sit politely with Hugh but quickly it becomes too uncomfortable and I make noises about having to ‘get organized’ and scoot from the room.
Upstairs, I lie flat on my back, staring at the bedroom ceiling. I just want all of this to be over and for it not to hurt any more. I close my eyes for a moment …
… I’m woken by the roar of a car engine outside, followed by the sounds of our front door being shoved open and feet thundering through the hall.
Neeve’s voice shouts, ‘Mum! Kiara! Sofie!’
What the actual …? It’s ten past three in the afternoon. I must have fallen asleep.
‘What?’ Kiara yells.
‘Come outside!’
More thundering of feet, followed by shrieks of excitement out in the road. Someone races up the stairs and shouts, ‘Mum! Mum! Where are you?’ It’s Kiara, and she bursts in. ‘Come, you’ve got to come!’
What’s up? But she seems wildly excited rather than panicked.
A shiny silver car is parked outside the house, an Audi, the cute round one.
‘It’s Neevey’s!’ Sofie exclaims. ‘Brand new, look!’ She points out the ‘17’ registration plate.
Oh, my God, Richie Aldin has bought Neeve a car. He is such a colossal arse. He could be helping her with a down-payment on a flat, giving her some independence, but instead he buys her a flashy toy.
‘Mum!’ Neeve’s eyes are manic and she crushes my hands between hers. ‘It cost sixty-five grand.’
Sweet mother of Jesus, I barely earn that in a good year.
‘You know he’s got an Audi too?’ She’s so proud. ‘We parked them beside each other and they look like the daddy one and the baby one.’
‘Wow, Neevey, that’s amazing.’
‘I know, right! I told him Hugh was home and that I had to give him back his car and he said he’d buy me one and I thought it would be some second-hand yoke. But he called a man and we just walked into the showroom place and Dad said, “That’s the one,” and he paid, like, there, and the man did the plates and I, like, drove it home!’
If Richie Aldin had paid decent maintenance for the first eighteen years of Neeve’s life, it would have come to a lot more than sixty-five grand, but no way would I ever say that.
‘Each of my sisters has one too.’
Who? Oh, she means Richie’s other daughters.
‘But min
e’s the newest!’
‘When you come down to earth, can Hugh and I have a little chat with you?’
‘About what?’ She’s instantly suspicious.
‘Hugh won’t be properly back until his six months are up,’ Sofie supplies.
‘Oh, yeah?’ Neeve’s eyes are narrowed. Twirling her car-key fob around her index finger, she says, ‘Now is good.’
Hugh is waiting in the living room. ‘Cool car, Neevey.’
‘Whatevs. So? Story?’
‘The plan was that I stay away six months. So I’m sticking to that.’
‘But where will you be? Living, like?’
‘Uncle Carl’s.’
‘You mean, here in Dublin?’ She sounds furious. ‘No fucking way.’
‘But, Neeve –’ I try.
‘Don’t embarrass my mum,’ she says. ‘Bad enough that in Thailand you were knobbing girls young enough to be your daughter. But don’t do it here. And stay away from that skeevy-ass Genevieve Payne.’
‘I wasn’t –’
‘And all of Mum’s friends. Stay away from them. You’ve no idea what you put Mum through.’
‘Neevey,’ I say. ‘Stop.’
‘I saw her. You wouldn’t let a dog suffer like that.’
98
Tuesday, 10 January
The hotel-room door flies open, Josh hoicks me inside, slams it shut and presses me against it. Into my ear he rasps, ‘Did you sleep with him?’
‘You know I didn’t.’
‘Sackcloth?’
‘I didn’t sleep with him.’
‘I kept thinking about him fucking you. It’s driving me mental.’
During our twelve days apart, this possessive thing, which began in Belgrade airport, has become a sort of game. And I don’t like it. But to be here with him, actual him, overwhelms all rational thought. I pull his face to mine and, God, the heat of his mouth, the swoony pleasure of kissing him, of being kissed. When we break apart, I sigh, ‘I’ve missed you.’
The relief of being with him, to hear his voice, to smell him, that special secret place at the side of his neck, to touch his skin, to slide the pads of my fingers up his back.
I’m pulling off his sweatshirt and he’s unbuttoning my dress, his fingers fumbling. ‘I want you too badly,’ he says. ‘I can’t do this properly.’
